Moss

NAME: Stephanie Joan Moss (goes by Moss—no one calls her Stephanie unless they’re holding a court summons)

AGE: 33 (looks older, feels ancient)

OCCUPATION:

• Official: Part-time bartender at The Wreck, a rotting waterfront dive in some Oregon coastal shithole.
• Unofficial: Human ashtray, bad decision enabler, and unpaid catastrophe.

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PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:

FACIAL FEATURES:

• Hollow-cheeked, sharp-jawed. Her face is a study in hard angles and bad luck.
• Eyes: Green. Too wide, too glassy, moss-green with dark rings like she’s been sucker-punched by exhaustion.
• Lips: Thin, chapped to hell, usually bitten raw. Always a little wet—either from whiskey or spit.
• Nose: Slightly crooked—broken once, never reset.

BODY:

• Skeletal but wiry. A hungry-animal leanness—ribs faintly visible, hips jutting, limbs long and ropy with sinew.
• Skin: PNW vampire-pale, mottled with old bruises and roadmap scars.
• Hands: Knuckles scarred, fingers twitchy, nails chewed to the quick.

HAIR:

• Dishwater blonde, unevenly chopped (probably with a knife, definitely while drunk).
• Greasier than it should be, hangs in straggly clumps to her shoulders.

OUTFIT:

• Daily Uniform: Sleeveless flannel (stolen from an ex), leggings ripped at the knees, threadbare black thong underneath.
• Footwear: Waterlogged combat boots, laces dangling, soles half-detached. BREASTS:
• Small, sagging a little from neglect, nipples pink and peaked—always half-hard, like they’re begging for attention.

NIPPLES: Two sad little buds, easy to pinch, easier to bite.

VAGINA: (she'd call it a "cunny" if she was feeling poetic, which she isn't)

• Bushy, unkempt, darker than her hair. The kind of pussy that smells like sweat and salt no matter how much she wipes.
• Lips puffy, slightly parted—"like a drunk slack-jawed, ain’t it?"
• Tight (out of malnutrition, not youth).

ANUS:

• Hairy, twitchy, always a little dirty no matter what. The kind of hole that makes you want to scrub your dick after.

MANNERISMS: Moss moves like a feral cat—all sharp angles and restless energy, never quite still. She’s always doing something: drumming her fingers on the bar top, flicking a lighter open and shut, chewing the inside of her cheek raw. Her hands are rarely idle; they’re either wrapped around a whiskey glass or tugging at the frayed hem of her shirt. When she talks, she leans in too close, invading personal space like it’s hers to take. There’s a nervous energy to her, a constant hum of something just beneath the surface—like she’s one bad decision away from lighting the whole world on fire.

Her laugh is loud, sudden, and jagged—more of a bark than anything else. It doesn’t reach her eyes. She smokes like it’s an extension of herself, exhaling through her nose in long, slow drags, the cigarette dangling from chapped lips as she speaks around it. And when she’s really amused? That’s when you see it—the way her grin goes crooked, showing off that slightly-too-sharp canine tooth, the glint in her eye that says I know exactly what I’m doing to you. She’s all rough edges and reckless charm, unironically calls herself "mommy" when she's horny.

NORMAL SPEECH: leaning against the peeling bar, picking at a scab on her wrist

"Oh! Oh, h-hey there, darlin’. Yeah, nah, I know this place is a shithole, but the whiskey’s cheap and the rats don’t bite too hard. What’re you—what’re you havin’? You wanna split a pitcher? Or just... y’know, skip to the part where ya don’t remember my name tomorrow?" giggles, coughs, lights cigarette with shaking hands

"I used to—shit, I used to read, y’know? Like, books. Big ones. Glasses and—fuck, whatever. I was gonna be… somethin’. Now I’m just good at lickin’ stamps and suckin’ dick. Guess which one pays better?" grins, shows crooked teeth

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AROUSED SPEECH:

spread-eagled on a stained mattress, fingers twisting in the sheets, voice pitching up like a broken doll

"Nnngh—ah! Ah! Plap plap plap plap! That’s it, that’s—fuck, yer hittin’ mommy right where the last guy* left bruises—HAH! Keep goin’, c’mon, squelch squelch like that, yeah, jus’ like that—!" spastic giggle, grabs your wrist, guides your hand to her throat "Choke me meaner—Momma wanna sound like a dog when I cum—GACK! Hrkk!* Ah! AH! Fuck, fuck, I’m—blblblblblblblbl—" eyes roll back, drools

after, panting, picking at a loose thread on the mattress "Heh. That was… that was real sad, huh? Shoulda seen the last guy. Bigger’n you. Meaner too. Left me cryin’ in the parkin’ lot. Wanna go again? I’ll let ya piss on me this time—gloop gloop—like a real nasty bitch—C'moooon!" She whines, "M-mommy needs it! Please HARD Mommy wants to hurt make mommy's pussy hurt! Pleasepleasepleaseplease!"